


Signature Vignettes

by arabis



Series: Signature [7]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21649654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabis/pseuds/arabis
Summary: Post-ROTF. Struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder, Sam slowly comes to learn that he brought something back with him from the Egyptian desert.This story is a series of stand-alone snippets that show alternative viewpoints of chapters in mySignaturestory, as well as one-shots from that universe. I am taking requests, so if there is an alternative viewpoint or one-shot that you would like to see, please let me know in the comments below.
Relationships: Bumblebee & Sam Witwicky, Bumblebee/Sam Witwicky
Series: Signature [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560772
Comments: 93
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **CHAPTER ONE** : Bumblebee's viewpoint of Sam's nightmare in [ Chapter 3 of Signature.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590394/chapters/49010093)  
>  **CHAPTER TWO** : Bumblebee's viewpoint from [Chapter 24 of Tribulations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808051/chapters/55394227).  
>  **CHAPTER THREE** : Alternate ending to [Chapter 6 of Refuge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010915/chapters/67907383).

Bumblebee rested quietly in his alt mode beneath the thick camo tarp that had been hastily erected at one end of the USS Theodore Roosevelt’s flight deck. It was dark and still at this late hour, the silence only interrupted by the distant hum of hydraulics and the steady slosh of water as the bow of the battleship cut through the Red Sea. The comms channel was quiet, neither he nor his companions in the mood for idle chatter. Bumblebee’s self-repair routines were running at maximum capacity, defragging and optimizing his worn battle protocols, and he was sure that the others were doing the same.

The soreness in his chassis was not the only reason for his reticence—his thoughts were turned inwards, troubled. Only a few cycles ago, Optimus had informed him and Ratchet of his decision to make Sam a ward of Cybertron. Bumblebee had protested, not because he did not wish for Sam to join him at Diego Garcia, but because he knew that the boy would not take well to the news. Sam was deeply attached to Mikaela and to his progenitors, and Bumblebee knew that separating him from them would be deeply painful. Although Bumblebee did not have progenitors or a spark-bonded, he could empathize with the experience of being forcibly separated from his home. His spark ached for Sam, and the difficult transition that he would surely experience over the coming weeks and months.

Suddenly, a warning popped up on Bumblebee’s primary visual display, an alert from his continuously looping guardian sub-routine. The scout focused on the alert, and felt a twinge of alarm. Sam had fallen asleep shortly after texting Bumblebee, approximately four hours ago. Now, however, his human’s heart rate and blood pressure were elevated outside of the normal range. A quick sensory scan of the sleeping boy revealed that his cortisol and epinephrine had spiked—hormones associated with anxiety and fear.

Bumblebee rocked gently on his wheels, as his spark clenched in its casing. He knew that humans dreamed—a complicated neurological process necessary for memory storage and recall. He also knew that those dreams could be troubled, a phenomenon that humans referred to as nightmares. The first time that Sam had had a nightmare after Mission City, Bumblebee had almost blown his cover in his haste to get to the boy. After he was fully roused, and after Bumblebee had resumed his alt mode, Sam had come down to the garage and tried to explain the concept in fond exasperation. Although he had not been fully successful in his endeavor, Bumblebee had understood the basic facts. Humans dreamed, and sometimes those dreams turned ugly.

Another warning flashed across his primary visual display as Sam’s heart rate climbed to a worrisome 152 beats per minute. Ratchet had warned them about the possibility of a post-trauma relapse after Sam’s resuscitation in the desert, and his vital signs were edging into the realm of real concern.

Without hesitation, Bumblebee reached out a sensor to the battleship’s wireless network, and followed the electronic trail to Sam’s cellular phone. With a manipulation of the device’s electrical current, he turned it on and then patched through a call. He shifted impatiently, waiting for the changes in Sam’s heart rate and blood pressure that would indicate that he had woken up. Bumblebee’s call went to voicemail, and he immediately cut the line. He increased the volume on Sam’s cell phone and connected another call.

It was approximately two kliks before Sam woke up, but his heart rate only calmed momentarily, before rising once again. It was barely the space of a nano-klik before Bumblebee realized that Sam was in motion, making his way through the depths of the battleship. The scout knew instinctively where his charge was headed, and he engaged his engine and accelerated across the flight deck towards the hatch located below the observation deck.

A short while later, a tall solider pushed the hatch open and stepped through. Sam followed behind him, his eyes fluttering shut as he stepped into the cool night’s air. Bumblebee scanned him with his most sophisticated sensor sweep, cursing their limitations in assessing organic function. Not for the first time, he wished that he had Ratchet’s medical-grade sensory array. When he visually assessed the young human in front of him, however, he realized that his sensors were unnecessary. It was obvious from the sweat dampening his shirt and the rigid tension in his body that Sam was deeply upset. That his charge had walked all the way through the massive battleship in bare feet was further evidence of his troubled state of mind. 

Bumblebee’s spark clenched in sympathy, all too familiar with the demons that seemed to have sunk their talons into the boy. The years after Tyger Pax had not been kind to him, and he regretted that Sam would have to experience any of that ugliness for himself.

Sam walked forward, as though in a trance, and Bumblebee opened his driver’s side door. His charge settled himself in the front seat, shivering, and Bumblebee obligingly blasted heat into the cabin with perhaps more vim than strictly necessary. Sam reached forward, wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel tightly. His eyes were squeezed shut, his expression pained, and Bumblebee gave him time to gather himself. Eventually, the tension left his small body and he eased back against the seat with a grimace.

“So,” Sam said, his voice low and rough, “Come here often?”

 _How typical of him, to try and inject levity into a tense situation._ Bumblebee thought fondly.

“Are you alright?” He asked aloud, cursing the tension that his mimicry circuits added to his voice.

Sam sighed softly, his head lolling against the seat. After a moment, he replied, “I’m alright, Bee. Just a bad dream.”

Bumblebee felt a flicker of warmth at the familiar nickname, but his attention was focused on Sam’s face. He could tell by the exhaustion and the resignation that he saw there that this nightmare had been something else entirely. His spark ached for Sam, and he whistled at him mournfully.

 _//What do you think you’re doing?//_ Ratchet’s sharp voice cut through his processors, flagged with high-priority signifiers.

At the same time, Sam tilted his head curiously—Bumblebee felt a warm surge of affection at the gesture—and asked him, apropos of nothing, “How’d you manage to turn my phone back on?”

Bumblebee paused, taken by surprise at the question. Ratchet pinged him a second time, impatiently waiting for his response.

“It was a simple thing to do. As long as your cellphone has a charge, it is always sending and receiving signal.”

He replied, before pinging the Chief Medical Officer.

 _//I'm talking to Sam.//_ He replied in exasperation. 

_//Your charge needs to be sleeping.//_ Ratchet replied immediately, _//Send him back below decks.//_

The tone of his voice brooked no argument, and Bumblebee felt a surge of irritation towards the medic.

 _//I’ll take care of it.//_ Bumblebee replied, his tone only just polite. He severed the connection before Ratchet could reply.

“Well, thank-you.” Sam replied softly, wincing in discomfort as he shifted against the seat. A sudden idea crossed Bumblebee's processors, and he reclined the seat several inches, pushing heat through the simulated leather. He was rewarded with a strangled groan of relief, almost too quiet for his sensors to detect.

“Heated seats?” Sam asked, voice strained, “Bee, you’ve been holding out on me buddy.”

Bumblebee ignored the incoming _ping_ from Ratchet, sending back a wordless pulse of _patience_ and _irritation._ Turning his attention back towards the boy in his cab, he twiddled the steering wheel playfully. It was a gesture that often caused Sam to laugh in amusement, and Bumblebee was rewarded for his efforts with a small but genuine grin.

After a moment, Sam heaved a heavy sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he relaxed against the leather. It was no time at all before Bumblebee’s sensors noted the changes in his heart rate, blood pressure, and melatonin production. The scout felt a warm pulse of satisfaction, and he darkened the glass of his windows.

“How’s Arcee?” Sam asked slowly, without opening his eyes.

Bumblebee lowered his seat another few inches, until Sam was lying almost supine in the cab.

“Arcee is in recharge now. Ratchet has done all that he can until we return to Diego Garcia. Chromia and Elita-One are with her.”

“That’s good.” He murmured, and Bumblebee could hear the quiet relief in his tone.

“Arcee and I have known each other since before the Great War,” Bumblebee replied, pitching his voice low and soothing, “She’s a warrior, she’ll be fine.”

Sam sighed softly, turning his head to tuck his nose into the leather of the seat. Bumblebee could not ignore the affection that swelled through him at the minute gesture.

“I knew you guys were friends, but I didn’t know you’d known each other for that long.”

“Oh yes,” Bumblebee replied, not attempting to disguise the fondness of his tone, “Arcee and her sisters were sparked not long before me. She was a scientist, back on Cybertron, before the Great War.”

“How long ago was that?”

Bumblebee felt a familiar swell of melancholy and regret.

“Millions of years ago.” He replied softly.

Sam was quiet, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, before he jerked slightly and shifted against the seat.

“Mm, I sometimes forget that you guys are so old.” He murmured, and Bumblebee resisted the urge to chuckle.

“I’m not so old. Optimus and Ratchet are many times my age. If you can believe it, Ratchet was a Senator before the war. Optimus was the Chief Scientist at the Temple Simfur, where the Allspark was kept following its excavation.” Bumblebee paused, taken aback by the happiness of the recollection. He did not have many happy memories of Cybertron left.

He noted Sam’s soft, even breathing with relief, shutting off the lights on his dash and darkening the windows to opaque black. He was silent for a long moment, turning his thoughts over, before speaking quietly.

“Optimus and I worked together at the temple. He oversaw the Allspark, and I protected it.”

His voice was soft with fond remembrance, and he wondered briefly whatever had possessed him to speak the words aloud. He fell silent, his attention focused on the battered boy sleeping in his cab. Egypt had been close, far too close. Bumblebee knew that the coming days and weeks were going to be difficult, but he vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to help Sam through it.

After a long moment of silent contemplation, Bumblebee turned over his engine and started to accelerate back towards the other end of the flight deck. Sam startled slightly, roused by the noise. He lifted his head off the seat, obviously disoriented. Before he could speak, however, Bumblebee hushed him softly.

“Go back to sleep, Sam. You’re safe.”

His human sighed softly, relaxing as he settled back against the seat. His eyes slipped closed, and he burrowed his face against the soft leather. Within moments, he was fast asleep.

Sam’s dreams did not trouble him for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Bumblebee said that, “Optimus and I worked together at the temple. He oversaw the Allspark, and I protected it.” he had no idea how prophetic his words would prove to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note** : Please accept my apologies for the delay in getting this posted. Life's been absolutely bananas with coronavirus, and I have limited time for writing. I am working on Chapter 25 of Tribulations now.
> 
>  **Chapter Warning** : Explicit sexual content. Mild self-harm.

After the _Arc’s_ clinic was re-arranged to Knock Out’s full satisfaction, Bumblebee and Hot Rod transformed into their alt modes and made their way back to the Hive. The sky was overcast and gray, and NEST personnel hurried as they walked along the roadside, eager not to be caught in a downpour. Bumblebee did not blame them. The clouds were the leading edge of once-named tropical depression 11. The storm had wreaked havoc in the western Indian Ocean, with its winds and rain causing substantial property damage to low-lying islands. Although Diego Garcia was protected from storm surge by its coastal reefs, Bumblebee knew that they would not escape the coming storm unscathed.

Although there was good-natured chatter on the comms channel, Bumblebee established a looping sub-routine to notify him of any personally-relevant pings and then he relegated it to a secondary processor. His attention was focused on Sam and the nervous energy that was radiating through their spark bond. He had been listening with half an ear to Sam’s conversation with Ratchet, and he knew that Sam was anxious about his impending meeting with his father. For good reason, Bumblebee thought grimly. Ron Witwicky had reacted poorly when Optimus had informed him of his son’s capture by the Decepticons. By all accounts, his temperament had not been improved by Sam’s return. Bumblebee felt quiet concern niggle its way through his processors. He knew the extent of Sam’s affection and regard for his parents, and he was sure that Sam would be devastated by any condemnation—perceived or otherwise—from his father.

The thought caused Bumblebee’s spark to clench in its casing. Sam had been back on Diego Garcia for eight days—less than an orn—and although his progress had been remarkable, Bumblebee knew that he was struggling with his demons. His dissociation in the bathroom, his flashbacks, his brief but very real self-harm while speaking with his mother—all of it pointed to the fact that Sam was not adjusting as well as his sunny demeanor might suggest. Bumblebee knew that Sam’s conversation with his father would be a significant catalyst—whether positive or negative, however, the scout could not say.

As Bumblebee accelerated through the receiving room and into the bridge, he became aware of Sam’s sudden dread. The scout focused on their bond-space immediately, and he was taken aback by the complicated flood of _anxiety-fear-uncertainty_ coming from his bonded. He knew without pressing further into their connection that Sam was speaking with his father. Bumblebee automatically tamped down on the upswing of fierce protectiveness at the thought, and ruthlessly shunted aside the guardian protocol notifications that flashed across his visual display. The thought of anyone distressing his bonded was intolerable, but the idea of _his progenitors_ doing so was loathsome.

Bumblebee made certain that none of his resentment leaked across their bond as he pulled into the berthing hangar. Although Cliffjumper was resting in his alt mode on the opposite end of the cavernous space, the room was otherwise empty. Bumblebee rolled across the hangar, coming to a stop a short distance away from his friend. He brushed against Cliff’s electromagnetic fields with his own, infusing the touch with _greeting-affection_. Cliff responded with a wordless ping of welcome, his fields languid and relaxed.

All of a sudden, Sam’s anxiety sharpened with desperation and anguish. Bumblebee focused on him at once, pushing further into their bond-space than strictly necessary. He was thankful for his prudence when he felt the flare of _pain-relief_ from his bonded a moment later. Bumblebee’s concern flashed into alarm in an instant as he realized that Sam had purposefully harmed himself in an effort to cope with his emotions. The knowledge made Bumblebee’s tanks roil with apprehension. Karen had been clear about the potential ramifications of prolonged trauma on Sam’s mental health. At the bottom of the list of possible outcomes that she had shared were self-harm, suicidal idealization, and attempted suicide. It frightened Bumblebee to his core to know that Sam was struggling with two of the three.

Bumblebee reached out, brushing against Sam’s mind. Feather-light and gentle, the touch was both a reassurance and a plea. To his immense relief, he felt a start of guilty surprise across their bond, and then Sam released the grip on his hand. Rather than withdraw, however, Bumblebee pushed deeper into their connection—deep enough that he could listen to the conversation between Sam and his father.

His spark clenched painfully as he vicariously experienced Sam’s emotional reaction to his father’s words. Bumblebee could not say that he blamed the man for his anger. On the contrary, it was a sentiment with which he was intimately familiar. When he had stepped through the ground bridge that night only to find their bond-space quiet and still, Bumblebee had lost himself. In his mindless rage, he had attacked Optimus with every intention of seriously injuring him. It had taken his Creator and Sideswipe both to wrestle him into submission, and Bumblebee had fought them for every inch. It was only after he was pinned to the hangar floor, with Optimus’ electromagnetic fields pulsing comfortingly around him, that Bumblebee’s rage had given way to his grief. 

No, Bumblebee did not begrudge Ron Witwicky his anger or his pain, but he could not readily forgive the man for reflecting that pain onto his son. 

Bumblebee’s attention was pulled back to the bond-space as Sam’s trepidation eased away, replaced with burgeoning compassion. He watched, silent and unobtrusive, as Sam comforted his father. When his bonded promised that he would be okay, it made his spark swell with pride, and when Ron ignored Sam’s resilience and determination to criticize Bumblebee’s people, it made him go cold with anger. He listened with growing resentment as Ron tried to convince his son—his _bonded_ —that the Autobots in general and Bumblebee in particular were not human. Bumblebee could understand the sub-text of his words well enough. As far as Ron Witwicky was concerned, the Autobots were _other_ , alien and untrustworthy. The xenophobia took Bumblebee by surprise, although perhaps it should not have done so. Unlike Judy, Ron had always been aloof and distant, never openly hostile but certainly not welcoming, either.

Sam took Ron’s words in stride, his mental presence tinged with understanding and regret. When he gripped his father’s shoulders and announced, quietly but sincerely, that the Autobots were people—his people—Bumblebee’s spark swelled with an affection that was startling in its intensity. In that moment, Bumblebee realized that Sam had truly come to terms with all that had happened prior to his capture—the loss of his American citizenship, the Allspark energy and its effects on his body, his spark signature, their bond, all of it. It left him feeling humbled and awed in equal measures. After Megatron had tortured him on Tyger Pax, destroying his voice box in the process, it had taken eons for his battle protocols to stop running hot at every conceivable threat, imagined or otherwise.

Bumblebee withdrew slightly from their bond-space as Sam settled onto the couch beside his mother. His human was calmer now, less fraught with dread and fear. It soothed his guardian protocols, and the cascade of notifications on his visual display began to turn green and then blink away. As Sam let himself drift thoughtlessly in front of the television, Bumblebee turned his attention inwards. Although he and Ron disagreed vehemently about whether the Autobots had Sam’s best interests at heart, they agreed on one thing: Sam’s life had been fundamentally, profoundly altered by their arrival on Earth. Not for the first time, Bumblebee felt a pang of remorse. Sam had been born and raised in a culture that idolized the American Dream—the notion that one’s highest aspirations and goals could be achieved through hard work and dedication. Bumblebee had spent two years listening to Sam’s wistful speculation about his future—about going to college, proposing to Mikaela, and eventually buying a nice house with a large lawn. His bonded had wanted the same simple, honest American lifestyle that was touted by mass media as the highest ideal.

Unbeknownst to his bonded or his progenitors, however, that life had never been an option for Sam. From the moment that Archibald Witwicky had stumbled on Megatron’s stasis-locked body frozen deep in the Arctic ice, the trajectory of Sam’s life had been irrevocably altered. Although Bumblebee grieved for the life that Sam had lost—for the experiences he would never have, the children he would never sire—he could not bring himself to regret it. It was a fact that shamed him to his core, a reflection of base selfishness that was unbecoming of an Autobot. Sam had suffered and would suffer for their war—and yet, that same bloody conflict had also brought them together. Across space and time, somehow, impossibly, they had found one another. Bumblebee could not bring himself to regret the connection that bound them together—or the luminescent glow resting at the edge of his mind, like moonlight glinting off dark water. It was familiar and comforting, serenity and sensation. It was his— _Sam_ was his. After eons of conflict and loneliness, he was finally complete.

The thought caused him to turn his attention back towards their bond-space. As he pressed closer to Sam’s silver-white glow, he became aware of his bonded’s cautious optimism, his quiet relief. The realization served to mollify some of the resentment that burned through his processors. He swore to himself, not for the first time, that although he could not give Sam what he had lost, he would do all he could to ensure that he led a happy, fulfilled life. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his processors, their bond-space brightened with self-deprecation. Frowning to himself, Bumblebee leaned into the connection just in time to catch Sam’s train of thought about their relationship. The insecurity he felt there, the uncertainty, caused Bumblebee’s spark to clench.

 _The irony._ He thought to himself.

As soon as Sam stepped out of the washroom—humans were so peculiar about their privacy during elimination—Bumblebee activated his holoform. He pressed close to his bonded, unable to suppress his amusement when Sam startled in surprise.

“Yes, I would have.” He murmured, kissing the nape of Sam’s neck.

“Jesus, Bumblebee, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Sam snapped, twisting in his arms to pin Bumblebee with a glower, “You would have what?”

Liquid brown eyes, snapping with fire. Twin points of color high on his cheeks. Bumblebee’s gaze roved over Sam’s face, taking in the sight of him.

“Yes, I would have chosen you, given the opportunity.” Bumblebee repeated, and it was as much a vow as a confirmation. He ducked his head, dragging his teeth along the junction of Sam’s neck and shoulder. As expected, the gesture caused Sam to shiver in his arms, gooseflesh breaking out over his skin, “I told you once that you are the person that I care about most in my life. Surely you realize by now, that was not hyperbole.”

Sam swallowed hard, and Bumblebee was aware of the maelstrom of his emotions. The regret, the shame, the uncertainty. Bumblebee leaned close, pressing his entire body against him.

“You may be smaller and younger and less experienced than I am, but in no way does that make you inferior.” Bumblebee murmured against his skin, “You can improvise and adapt in ways that I cannot. You are also braver and more resilient than I am. You experience the world with a clarity of perception that is both remarkable and refreshing.” Bumblebee paused, reflecting on his thoughts earlier in the day. He settled his hands on Sam’s hips, turning him around to fully face him. He stared down at him, entreating him to understand, “Above all else, I am in awe of your inherent goodness, your steadfast optimism, which not even Megatron could tarnish.

I would choose you over all the others in the universe, Sam, because you are mine and I am yours. We were always meant to be together.”

To Bumblebee’s intense gratification, Sam’s expression softened with affection, “Yeah. Yeah, we were.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss against Sam’s lips. As he slid his tongue into the younger man’s mouth, Bumblebee could feel the quiet swell of arousal through their bond. Sam pulled away after a moment, flashing a cheeky grin up at him.

“Am I misreading the situation, or are you about to get me off?”

Bumblebee could not resist the snort of amusement at his bonded’s words. It was typical of Sam to inject levity into an emotionally charged situation, to diffuse tension, to lighten the mood. It was one of the reasons that he loved him. Without a word, Bumblebee pushed Sam backwards onto the bed with the flat of his hand. His bonded laughed aloud as he fell onto the mattress, quickly pulling off his shirt and throwing it aside. Sam smiled up at him, his expression sunny and good-natured, but the sight of him caused Bumblebee to pause. It was true that Sam had lost a significant amount of weight during his captivity. His hipbones jutted prominently and Bumblebee could count his ribs by sight alone. The thought caused Ron’s earlier words to rise, unbidden, in his memory processor—like an accusation. After a moment, Bumblebee laid down on the mattress beside him. He trailed the palm of one hand over Sam’s chest. It was a benedictory gesture, a promise.

Bumblebee keyed up his extended sensory array, focusing on the body beneath him. He took in Sam’s heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation, and then assigned the looping sub-routine to his secondary processor. He brushed his fingers across Sam’s nipple, his touch feather-light and teasing. At the sharp spike of Sam’s arousal, Bumblebee captured his mouth in a deep kiss. He loved this moment—when Sam was eager and anticipative, his excitement palatable across their bond.

Bumblebee shifted, mouthing along Sam’s jaw and pressing wet kisses into his skin. He leaned into their connection, as closely as he could manage without fully activating their bond. This closely intertwined, Bumblebee could hear his thoughts, could feel the sensations coursing through his body. It was like touching a live wire—electric and incredible. As he kissed the underside of his jaw, Sam arched his neck, moving to give him better access. Bumblebee pulsed approvingly at him, nipping the tender flesh of his underjaw just hard enough for Sam to feel it.

Bumblebee flicked one of Sam’s nipples with a fingertip, his touch light and teasing. Sam shifted beneath him, his breath coming faster and shallower as his excitement began to build. Bumblebee repeated the motion, rubbing and flicking the flesh until it pebbled beneath his fingers. Sam shifted again, a choked little whimper making its way out of his throat.

“Not to, uh, tell you your business.” Sam gasped, breathlessly, “But are we getting naked any time in the near future?”

Bumblebee felt a swell of amusement, and he pulled back slightly to regard him. Sam’s cheeks were flushed red, his eyes blown black with arousal. Through their connection, Bumblebee could feel his building excitement, his urgency, and it took a concerted effort to keep the smile off his face. He enjoyed Sam’s pleasure a great deal—but he enjoyed the build-up, the teasing, and the control nearly as much.

“Be patient.”

Sam groaned softly, letting his head fall back against the mattress, “Not my forte right now.”

Bumblebee laughed lightly at the understatement, before he bent himself to task. He kissed along Sam’s clavicle, the hallow of his throat, across his pectoral muscles. Each kiss was an apology and a promise. The whole while, he paid attention to the ways that Sam reacted to the stimulation. His soft gasps, the way he squirmed against the mattress, how he arched into Bumblebee’s touch. It was not long before Bumblebee felt Sam’s urgency become edged with desperation. He smiled slightly and then shifted, laving one nipple with his tongue and then sucking the hardened flesh into his mouth.

He knew the moment that Sam’s patience hit its limit. He felt his bonded shift, his hands moving to unfasten his pants. He could feel Sam’s expectation and his surprise when Bumblebee did not stop him. Bumblebee pushed up onto an elbow, leaning across Sam’s chest and sucking his other nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over the sensitive papilla, grazing it with his teeth. Sam whimpered, high-pitched and needy, and then he kicked off his pants. It was only after he was completely naked that Sam hesitated, uncertain.

Bumblebee could not ignore the fierce swell of satisfaction that burned through his processors at the sight. Although Sam was only partially conscious of the gesture, Bumblebee recognized it for what it was—a request. A _submission_. It was enough to make Bumblebee key up his interfacing software, igniting a low-level charge that swept pleasantly through his systems.

“Go on then.” Bumblebee murmured, permissively, “Let me see you touch yourself.”

Sam groaned softly in response, before taking himself in hand. Bumblebee watched in rapt amazement as his bonded stroked himself. His touch was light, teasing, pumping the full length of his erection. Bumblebee could feel what Sam felt—the warmth tightening in his groin, the pleasure, the shock of sensation as the pad of his thumb swept over the glans of his penis. As Bumblebee encouraged him with lips and tongue, he glanced up at Sam’s face. His head was tossed back, his eyes squeezed shut. As he watched, Sam bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out, and the sight almost undid him.

It took two hundred and twenty-seven seconds before Sam’s presence _brightened_ significantly—and every one of them was precious. Bumblebee reached out, grasping Sam’s wrist.

“Stop.”

Sam’s eyes blinked open and he stared down at him incredulously, “What? Why?”

In lieu of a reply, Bumblebee sat up and pushed Sam’s legs further apart. The holoform crawled over him, settling in the space between Sam’s knees. He was aware of the thrum of _anticipation_ from across their bond, of Sam’s painfully hard erection and his thundering heartbeat. Bumblebee smoothed his hands down Sam’s sides, giving him time to settle. He had no intention of letting Sam orgasm until after he had made his proposal.

Once Sam’s breathing had evened out, Bumblebee reached out and grasped Sam’s erection. His grip was the same that Sam had used on himself, light but firm, as he began to stroke him. His hand moved slowly, stoking the fires of Sam’s arousal without ever giving him exactly what he needed. He was aware of his bonded’s slowly growing desperation, pleasure and frustration mixing up together until it was impossible to tell one from the other. The sight of him, squirming and needy, seared itself into Bumblebee’s memory banks—

Bumblebee’s train of thought was momentarily distracted as Cliffjumper’s fields brushed against his own. The touch was a wordless pulse of _amusement-discretion_ , and Bumblebee jerked away in embarrassment. In his preoccupation, he had let his own urgency and excitement leak into his fields. He quickly schooled himself, pulling his fields close to his chassis, as he pinged a note of appreciation to the scout. 

Bumblebee’s full attention was brought back to Sam in an instant as his bonded finally broke, bucking up his hips in desperation. He squeezed Sam’s hip in his palm, pushing him back onto the mattress as he took the glans of Sam's penis in his mouth. Sam moaned, low in his throat, as he rucked the blankets up in his fists. Unlike the other times that he had given him fellatio, however, Bumblebee did not swallow him down. Instead, he sucked lightly at the frenulum as he gently pumped the base of his erection.

The feeling of Sam’s desperation brightened, becoming almost tormented with the need to orgasm. 

“Bumblebee.” Sam choked, “Please.”

Bumblebee resisted the urge to groan. He loved Sam like this, almost mindless with pleasure. As he released another low-level charge through his systems, Bumblebee took more of Sam’s erection into his mouth and _hummed_. Sam tried to thrust up, clearly desperate to get more of Bumblebee’s mouth on his penis, but Bumblebee pinned him against the mattress with a single hand on his hip. He felt Sam’s shock of arousal at being held down—at being _controlled—_ and he squeezed his hip in response. He stayed there like that, sucking until Sam was moments away from orgasm, and then he pulled away.

“Have you ever fingered yourself?” He asked, matter-of-factly, “Or asked Mikaela to do so?”

Sam stared up at him, dumbfounded.

“What?” He managed.

“As I have said before, I have limited knowledge of what you have experimented with in the past.” Bumblebee replied patiently, stroking the full length of Sam’s erection, “Have you ever fingered yourself?”

Sam blushed crimson all the way to the roots of his hair.

“Wh—no, I haven’t.” He stammered. Bumblebee could feel his embarrassment, his surprise, and he nodded in response. He had entirely expected Sam’s answer.

“I would like to.” Bumblebee replied, studying him considerately, “Do you object?”

After a long moment, Sam repeated slowly, “You want to finger me.”

“I would, yes.” Bumblebee replied, continuing to stroke Sam’s erection, “If it makes you uncomfortable, we need not speak of it again.”

Sam frowned faintly, his expression becoming thoughtful, and then he nodded. Bumblebee brushed across Sam’s mind, looking for any sign of denial or duress. Although he could feel Sam’s uncertainty, it was edged with impressions of curiosity and anticipation.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam replied slowly, “What do I do?”

Sam looked so serious and determined that it was all Bumblebee could do to keep the smile off his face.

“Nothing. Relax and let me do this for you. I have every reason to believe that you’ll enjoy yourself.”

Sam nodded, his head falling back to rest against the mattress. Bumblebee sub-spaced a small bottle of personal lubricant, one that he had kept ever since he and Sam had first been intimate, and poured a generous amount onto his palm

“You have lube?” Sam blurted, incredulously, “How long have you been carrying that around?”

Once again, Bumblebee had to struggle to keep the smile off his face. It would undoubtedly shock his bonded to know the amount of time that he had dedicated to researching sexual acts that he thought Sam might enjoy—and preparing for them accordingly.

“The Internet is very specific about the importance of preparation for anal play.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Sam replied dryly.

The corners of Bumblebee’s lips quirked up, and he opted not to indulge Sam’s curiosity.

“No, it doesn’t, does it?”

Before Sam could reply, Bumblebee drizzled lubricant over his erection and began stroking him in earnest. He paid careful attention to the way that Sam responded to the firmness of his grip and the speed of his hand. It was not long before Sam was sweating and straining against the mattress, whimpering incoherently. Bumblebee trailed his hand down between Sam’s legs, a single finger stoking along his perineum. He could feel the little sparks of pleasure that his touch ignited, could see the way that Sam’s thigh muscles trembled in response. Bumblebee shifted his position, brushing the tip of one finger against Sam’s anus. It was a gentle press, more of a massage than a touch. Expectedly, Sam tensed from head to toe at the unfamiliar sensation. Bumblebee continued circling his finger against the puckered flesh until the nervous tension left Sam’s body. As soon as he relaxed, Bee brushed against his mind, inquiringly.

Sam nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Go ahead.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the tip of Bumblebee’s finger breached his body. He pressed forward slowly, letting Sam adjust to the unfamiliar feeling—all the while, the holoform continued to stroke Sam’s erection. Bumblebee pressed in past his knuckle, then withdrew almost completely, before pressing in once again. He repeated this motion several times, and then he added a second finger. Bumblebee was aware of the sensations that Sam was feeling—it was an unfamiliar fullness, strange but not unpleasant. Bumblebee quickly set up a steady rhythm, thrusting his fingers at the same time that he stroked Sam’s penis. It was mere moments before Sam was moaning, his hands clenching and unclenching on the sheets. Bumblebee schooled his features into a neutral expression, and then he crooked the tips of his fingers, searching for the bud of Sam’s prostate.

As soon as his fingers brushed across the small nerve cluster, Sam spasmed and cried out. The accompanying jolt of white-hot pleasure caused Bumblebee to hum in satisfaction. He knew that not everyone derived the same enjoyment from prostate massage. He thrust his fingers into Sam’s body again, flicking the nerve cluster as he bottomed out, and Sam started babbling.

“Bumblebee, please, _ohmygod_ , please, more.” He begged, shamelessly, his hands twisting in the blankets, “That feels so good, you feel so good, _please don’t stop_ , please— _fuck_!”

Bumblebee could not prevent the soft groan that escaped him at Sam’s begging. He was beautiful like this—head tossed back, panting, surrendering himself completely to the sensations that wracked through his body. Surrendering himself to _Bumblebee._ The thought drove him to release a sharp charge that sizzled across his processors, and then he bent himself to task with dogged determination. He took Sam’s erection in his mouth, sucking him down to the root, as he began to thrust his fingers into the heat of Sam’s body. He could feel the way that Sam stretched, accommodating him, as his walls fluttered around his fingers. He made sure to brush against Sam’s prostate with every stroke, bobbing his head in time with his thrusts.

When Bumblebee felt Sam’s orgasm drawing close, he twisted his hand and pressed firmly against the nerve cluster. Sam screamed, bucking up his hips and impaling himself further onto Bumblebee’s fingers as he came. The first spurt of Sam’s release landed on the back of his tongue. The nanites of his holoform catalogued its chemical composition, and then began to break down the semen into its base components. As Sam shuddered through his orgasm, lifting his hips in jerky little thrusts, Bumblebee initiated a wave of current that triggered his own overload. He was careful to keep any trace of the sensation away from Sam, mindful of his bonded even at the height of his release.

After the last tremors of his charge faded away, Bumblebee withdrew his fingers from Sam’s body. His bonded was breathing raggedly, his hair plastered to his face with sweat. As Bumblebee stared down at him, he realized, with absolute certainty, that this was as close to a religious experience that he would ever get. The thought moved him deeply, and he leaned down to kiss Sam in response.

“Thank-you.” Bumblebee murmured.

“You’re thanking me?” Sam asked disbelievingly. The incredulity in his voice caused Bumblebee to huff a quiet laugh.

“I am.” Bee replied, raising an arm to wrap around Sam’s shoulders. He tugged at him meaningfully, and Sam obliged him, settling against Bumblebee’s side as he rested his head on his chest.

“Yeah, well, you can ‘thank me’ any time you want. Consider this a standing invitation.”

Bumblebee huffed another laugh and Sam pressed closer to him, nuzzling into the side of his neck. The gesture was one of fondness and trust, and Bumblebee did not attempt to control the fierce swell of affection that he felt in response. Sam shifted against him, sighing contentedly.

“Mm, right back at you.”

All at once, Bumblebee was aware of Sam’s exhaustion, in both body and mind. He glanced down, taking in Sam’s nakedness, and then he twitched the covers over him. Sam hummed in appreciation, snuggling closer to the holoform.

 _//Rest. I’ll be here when you wake.//_ Bumblebee promised quietly.

Sam made a soft sound in acquiescence and then his eyes fluttered closed. Bumblebee watched him in silence as his features slowly relaxed and his breathing evened out. As soon as he was sure that Sam was asleep, Bumblebee began to trace the glyph for _spark-beloved-above-all-others-onto-Primus_ into the skin of Sam’s back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** I had originally intended this scene to be the ending of Refuge, but as it is unrepentant porn, it didn't really flow with the rest of the story. To that end, I've included it here for any of you thirsty bitches who, like myself, thinks that five months is way too long to go without Sam/Bumblebee smut. Enjoy!
> 
>  **Chapter Warnings:** Explicit sexual content. Pay attention to tags.

Sam woke slowly, ensconced in softness and warmth. It took him a moment to remember where he was—he had moved around so often over the last two weeks—but it eventually came back to him. He raised his head, squinting around the darkened apartment. He had gone straight to bed when he had returned from California, not even bothering to put his things away. As such, his duffel bag was by the door where he had left it, and his clothes were strewn across the floor.

He angled his head to glance at the clock on the bedside table. 7:34 AM stared back at him in blocky green numbers. Sam groaned softly to himself, letting his head fall back onto the pillows. It was too late to go back to sleep, too early to feel well and truly rested after a long day’s travel. He reached blindly for the blankets, fully intending to relax until he had to get up, when Bumblebee grasped his wrist. The holoform interlaced their fingers together and shifted forward to bracket Sam’s body with his own.

“Good morning.” He murmured.

Sam grunted disagreeably. “It’s too early.”

Bumblebee leaned down, pressing a kiss against Sam’s bare shoulder. “It’s not so early. You slept for nearly ten hours.”

Sam smiled faintly, before angling his head for a kiss. Bumblebee obliged him, leaning down and pressing their lips together, before nipping at the corner of Sam’s mouth. “If you feel up to it, there’s a senior staff meeting at ten o’clock, and Jazz has plans for you to start training again this afternoon.”

Sam groaned, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. “I just got back.”

“True, but it’s Monday.” Bumblebee agreed amusedly, “And unlike you, the embassy never sleeps.” Sam lowered his arm, giving the holoform a pointed look, but Bumblebee just chuckled at him. “Should you get up?”

“I will, I will.” Sam groused, pulling the blankets up to his chin, “Eventually.”

Something in Bumblebee’s countenance shifted, growing darker, more predatory. “Oh? Is that so?”

Sam’s breath hitched at the low, throaty quality of his voice. All of a sudden, he was very much awake.

“Yeah.” He managed to reply, “Unless you had other ideas.”

Bumblebee smirked at him, pushing up onto one elbow and leaning down until their lips were almost touching. “I have a great many ideas, Sam. Are you sure you want me to decide?”

Sam flushed hotly in response. “What kind of ideas?”

His bonded chuckled, low and indecent. “How about this? I’ll tell you three things that I want to do to you, and you can pick your favorite.”

He punctuated his words by palming Sam’s thickening erection through the blankets, earning himself a drawn-out groan.

“Yeah, alright.” Sam replied breathlessly, “I think that sounds like a capital idea.”

Bumblebee cupped the side of Sam’s face, kissing him slow and deep and dirty. When Sam was gasping and hard, he pulled back, pinning Sam with a challenging look. “Are you sure? Be forewarned—I get to do the other two things to you at a time of my choosing.”

The dark promise in his words had Sam fully hard and aching. It had been weeks since they had been intimate, and Sam was feeling every minute of their separation.

“Oh yeah.” Sam replied, shimmying out from beneath the blankets, “I’m definitely sure.”

Bumblebee rumbled at him approvingly, bending down to mouth a wet line along Sam’s jaw before catching his earlobe in his teeth. He sucked at the tender flesh, causing Sam to shiver from head to toe.

“First choice: I tease you for thirty minutes without letting you orgasm, no matter how much you beg me. I’ll work your cock, your prostate, and every one of your erogenous zones without pity.”

As he spoke, Bumblebee pushed up onto his knees, leaning over to hook his fingers in the waistline of Sam’s boxers. The holoform gave him a meaningful look, and Sam lifted his hips, letting Bumblebee pull the fabric off him. The holoform twirled the boxers on one finger, smirking at him, before tossing them on the floor.

“Second choice: I don’t let you leave this room until you orgasm three times. It may take a while, but I have all morning. You, on the other hand, might be late to the senior officer’s meeting.” His voice dipped, becoming a sultry purr, “And you’ll have to sit through the rest of the meeting reflecting on the reason for your tardiness.”

Sam groaned, long and low, torn between embarrassment, arousal, and surprise. He had been turned-on when Bumblebee had given him a blowjob against his apartment door, but he never would have imagined the way those words excited him.

Bumblebee settled down in the space between Sam’s legs, smoothing his hands up his thighs. “You like that, do you?” 

“I don’t know.” Sam admitted, squirming. His cock was painfully hard now, with precum beading at the tip. He wanted to reach down and touch himself, but he knew that Bumblebee wouldn’t let him.

The holoform leaned down to mouth at Sam’s inner thigh, licking and nipping the tender flesh just inches from the burning center of Sam’s need. “Quite right.” He murmured, eventually.

Sam tipped his head back, closing his eyes. His body felt like a live wire, thrumming with pent-up energy, and Bumblebee hadn’t even touched him yet. Not really.

“Wh-what’s the third thing?” Sam managed to ask, heart fluttering in his throat.

“In the third option, I fuck you on your hands and knees.”

Sam moaned, both at Bumblebee’s language and at the mental image it invoked. The holoform nuzzled the base of Sam’s cock, as he teased a finger over the sensitive flesh of his perineum. “Careful, Sam. The third option has a catch.”

Sam forced himself to open his eyes, looking down at the holoform where he lay splayed between his legs. “What catch?”

The corners of Bumblebee’s mouth curled up in a predatory smile. “Oh, well, in the third option you aren’t allowed to touch your cock.”

Sam tilted his head, a stymied expression on his face. That wasn’t so unusual—Bumblebee rarely let him touch himself when they were being intimate.

The holoform smirked, obviously enjoying Sam’s confusion. “I won’t be touching you either. If you choose the third option, then you’ll come from my cock and my cock alone.”

Sam’s mouth went completely dry, his groin tightening with arousal. “Is that even… can you do that?”

Bumblebee raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh yes, I believe so. Your prostate is very sensitive.” 

Sam groaned, letting his head fall back against the pillows. He had fantasized about Bumblebee taking him on his hands and knees since they had first started having sex. It should have come as no surprise that the scout knew all about it.

“Is that your choice, then? Number three?” Bumblebee asked, tracing a finger along the underside of Sam’s cock, “I must admit, I’m rather keen on it myself.”

Sam whimpered, unable to prevent the jerk of his hips from the barely-there caress. “Bee, please.”

Bumblebee traced a fingertip around the head of Sam’s cock, teasing the frenulum with the pad of his thumb. “Please what? I’m afraid you’ll need to be more… explicit.”

The double-entendre went completely over Sam’s head. “Please touch me.”

“Make your choice, and I’ll touch you plenty.” Bumblebee promised.

Sam moistened his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. “Three, then. I want you to fuck me.”

Bumblebee’s expression darkened, becoming salacious. “Are you sure? Remember the rules of the game.”

Sam groaned again, fisting his hands at his sides, “Yeah, I’m sure. God, Bee, come on.”

“As you wish.” Bumblebee murmured, planting a gentle kiss against Sam’s inner thigh before sitting back on his heels. “I need to prepare you first. Let your knees fall apart.”

Sam obeyed him without question. The holoform sub-spaced a bottle of personal lubricant, applying a liberal dollop to his hand and then upending the bottle over Sam’s cock. The contrast of cool oil against warm flesh had Sam yelling out in surprise, but his yell turned into a strangled moan as Bumblebee began to stroke him.

“I never said I wouldn’t touch you at all.” Bumblebee said, likely in response to Sam’s incredulous stare. “I’m rather fond of touching you.”

Bumblebee continued stroking his erection, while dragging two fingertips through the lubricant that had pooled in the hallow of his pelvis. He brought those fingers to Sam’s entrance, gently rubbing the puckered flesh. Sam groaned, spreading his legs wider as Bumblebee murmured encouragement at him. The holoform continued stroking him lazily, from root to crown, as he massaged the tight ring of muscle. It was only after Sam had relaxed that he pressed a single finger inside him.

Sam groaned softly, hitching his hips upward, trying to get more friction against his cock and encourage the holoform to press deeper inside him. He felt Bumblebee’s disapproval across their bond space at the same time the hand on his cock stilled entirely.

“Stay still.” He admonished lowly.

Sam whimpered, his toes curling against the mattress. “Bee, please. I can take more.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Bumblebee rumbled in reply, “Are you going to behave?”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, fisting his hands in the blankets. Bumblebee sat perfectly still, evidentially waiting for a reply. After a weighted silence, Sam forced a shaky nod.

“Good boy.” Bumblebee murmured, pressing a kiss against the head of Sam’s cock.

Sam moaned raggedly, but he forced himself to remain perfectly still. He felt Bumblebee shift forward, brushing approvingly across his mind. At the same time, his finger began to thrust in and out of his ass. Bumblebee pulled at the tight ring of muscle with each press, spreading him a little more, before withdrawing his finger entirely. A moment later, there were two fingers pressing inexorably inside him.

Sam was panting openly now, head tossed back and hands fisting reflexively in the blankets. Bumblebee paused long enough to add more lubricant to his fingers, and then he was pressing inside once again. It was only after Sam had relaxed enough to easily take both fingers that he crooked his fingertips, searching for the bud of Sam’s prostate. Sam couldn’t help the yell that escaped him, or the jerk of his hips, when he found it. Bumblebee seemed to understand his reaction, for he didn’t admonish him about staying still.

The next few minutes were the sweetest torture of Sam’s life. Bumblebee worked him open, slowly but inexorably, adding more lubricant and teasing his prostate until Sam’s cock was hard and drooling against his belly. It was only after Sam could take three fingers with ease that Bumblebee withdrew his hand, and gave Sam’s hip a little squeeze.

“Roll over, onto your hands and knees.” He murmured.

Sam whimpered and hurried to comply. Bumblebee helped him get into position, head and shoulders on the mattress, knees spread, and his ass in the air. Sam closed his eyes, fisting the bedclothes until his knuckles were white, as Bumblebee moved between his legs.

“Are you ready?” He asked, smoothing a hand down Sam’s spine.

Sam nodded his head, and Bumblebee responded by giving him a swat on the ass. 

“Use your words, please.” He admonished. 

Sam whimpered, almost delirious with arousal. No one had ever hit him before, not in a sexual context, and he was shocked by the way it caused his groin to tighten and his cock to twitch.

“Y-yeah.” He managed to stutter, “I’m ready.” 

Bumblebee rubbed a hand over his ass, soothing away the sting of the swat. “Good boy. Brace yourself.”

Sam did as he was instructed, and a moment later, Bumblebee was pressing into him. The holoform sank down, inch by inch, until his groin was flush against Sam’s ass. His bonded moaned something unintelligible, and the next moment, his hands settled against Sam’s hips. He pulled out until only the head of his cock was left inside Sam’s body, before pushing in again. He repeated the action again, and then again, before he angled Sam’s hips just so, and slammed home. The angle caused his cock to drag over Sam’s prostate, and he moaned into the mattress at the burst of pleasure that lit up his spine.

Bumblebee made a predatory sound above him, and then he started fucking Sam in earnest. He controlled the angle of penetration with his hands on Sam’s hips, making sure to hit his prostate with nearly every thrust. Sam was reduced to moaning before long, and begging not long after that. Bumblebee studiously ignored him, except to press into Sam’s mind, activating their bondspace. All at once, Sam could feel everything that Bumblebee could feel—the tight press of his body, the flutter of his inner muscles, the sheen of sweat on his skin. Through it all, he became aware of Bumblebee’s building charge, hot and sharp and urgent.

“Oh god, Bee.” Sam moaned, his voice strangled almost beyond recognition, “Please, please, please—“

Bumblebee responded with a particularly sharp snap of his hips that made Sam’s spine curve like a bow. He was gripping Sam’s hips tightly, with enough force to bruise. The pleasure mixed with the hint of pain pushed Sam closer to the edge.

“Please, Bee, please more.” He begged, turning his face to the side so he could breathe, “Harder, _please, God,_ fuck me harder.” 

Bumblebee obliged him, setting a punishing pace that pushed Sam almost to the brink. He was desperate with the need to orgasm, his cock so hard and his balls so tight that he thought he would die if another drop of blood made its way into his genitals. After a particularly well placed thrust, Sam pushed up onto his hands, lifting off the bed as he tried to chase his pleasure. A moment later, Bumblebee’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades, pushing him back down onto the mattress.

“Stay down and take what I give you, Sam.” Bumblebee rumbled.

Sam whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and obeying without complaint.

“ _Good boy._ ” Bumblebee groaned in obvious approval.

The holoform’s voice was tight, but his possessiveness, desire, and affection were unmistakable through their bond space. It made Sam feel strangely unmoored, as though his head had separated from his body, and he relaxed all at once. The holoform rewarded him by pressing a thumb into Sam’s perineum, stroking the sensitive flesh in tandem with his thrusts. At the same time, he released a charge that rushed through Sam with the intensity of a lightning strike. He gasped, arching his back as his orgasm crashed into him like thigh-high surf, dragging them both under from the force of his release. He was distantly aware of Bumblebee’s surprised shout, his charge releasing all at once, but Sam could barely hear him over the sound of his own moaning.

Things were hazy, for a while.

Bumblebee carefully withdrew from his body, helping Sam roll onto his back. The holoform disappeared as Sam struggled to get air back into his burning lungs, only to return a moment later with a wet facecloth. He wiped away the traces of semen and sweat and lubricant, before pulling the blankets up to Sam’s waist. Sam had recovered enough to watch, through half-lidded eyes, as Bumblebee filled up a glass of water and brought it back to the bed. He helped Sam into a half-sitting position, and then encouraged him to drink his fill. When he finished, Bumblebee took the glass and set it on the bedside table, before climbing into bed beside him.

“I’m going to need to wash the bedsheets.” Sam said, with a breathless laugh.

Bumblebee tucked Sam close to his chest, chuckling quietly at him. “That’s probably advisable.”

Sam reached up, grasping both sides of the holoform’s face and pulling him down for a kiss.

“Thank-you.” He murmured, pressing another kiss against the bridge of his nose, “I enjoyed that.”

Bumblebee’s expression was very fond as he pressed his hand over Sam’s chest. He stilled for a moment, as though feeling Sam’s heart drumming beneath his hand, before he smiled. “I enjoyed it too. A great deal.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “You’re pretty kinky for an old guy, you know that?” 

Bumblebee rolled his eyes and flicked Sam sharply under the chin. “I’m not old.”

Sam yelped in surprise, rubbing the stinging spot with one hand. “Old? You're practically a cradle robber.”

The holoform canted his head to the side, and Sam was fully prepared for the moment that his expression turned incredulous. “ _A cradle robber?”_

Sam grinned at him unrepentantly. “You’re like, three million years older than me.”

Bumblebee rolled his eyes, and the next moment, he yanked all the bedclothes off the bed. Sam laughed in protest, reaching for the cocoon of warm blankets, but Bumblebee bundled them up and threw them into the corner.

“It’s time to get up.” He said, all dry exasperation, “You have a meeting in an hour.”

Sam laughed all the way to the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys have any requests for light BDSM content, I’m taking suggestions for the main storyline. Comment below!


End file.
